What Happens in the Trees
by Daryl.Fuckin.Dixon
Summary: During the end of the world, finding love is the last thing on anyone's mind. But for Daryl Dixon and a young man named Scorch, they will find something in each other that they've never had before. Daryl/OC M/M! Don't like, don't read!


Disclaimer: I own none of The Walking Dead characters. The only person I own is Scorch, he is my OC.

Warnings: This contains M/M sex scenes! Don't like, don't read!

Summary: At the end of the world, finding love seems like it should be the last thing on anyone's plate. And for Daryl Dixon and Scorch, it was. When the two meet however, they find something they've been missing for most of their lives.

If anyone had told him the end of the world would be this boring, he would've at least tried to bring a few more books. The one he had brought was pitifully worn out from being read so many times. Scorch was pretty sure he could recite word for word by now, and it wasn't even a great book. But, during the end of the world, beggars couldn't be choosers.

With that in mind, the young man ran a hand through his brown close cropped hair and grabbed a beautiful ebony recurve bow from the ground next to him as well as a quiver full of arrows and walked out onto the rickety platform of his little tree hut. Its design was pretty laughable, but it had served him well since everything had gone to hell. He lowered a sturdy rope ladder and started to descend. Once at the bottom he tossed the ladder back onto the platform so no one would be able to get up there on the off chance there were other live people around.

As soon as the ladder landed on the platform, a twig behind him snapped. He spun around, bow drawn tight, and held his breath. He stayed that way for several seconds until he heard what sounded like someone throwing a rock. Having used the distraction many times himself against the deadheads, he dared to whisper, "Who's there?"

No one answered for several seconds until a ragged, travel worn man appeared from the brush with a crossbow aimed at his head. Scorch wasted no time in training his arrow between the man's eyes.

"You alone?" the man barked without moving an inch.

"What's it to you?" Scorch retorted. He felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck.

"To me? Nothin', to you?" He eyed Scorch's bow. "Bet I can pull this trigger faster than you can loose that arrow."

"Yeah, only to die a second later when my arrow does hit you," Scorch snorted. He wasn't scared. He felt there was a reasonable chance of talking his way through this.

The man eyes the crudely made tree hut with its tarp walls and wooden platform. "That yours?" He asked.

Scorch deliberated a moment before answering, already knowing what this survivor needed. "Yeah. You need a place for the night? Food?"

The man licked the corner of his mouth in thought. "You offerin'?" He asked.

Scorch hesitated and looked around, remembering the promise he had made.

Finally, "...Yeah."

He let the tension release from his bow and slung it across his back. Picking up a tall, hook shaped branch from the ground, he dragged the rope ladder back off the platform. Once it swung down, he motioned to it, looking at the man. "After you."

The man snorted, holding his crossbow close, but no longer aiming it at Scorch's head. "No, you first." Scorch shrugged and climbed back up the ladder, lifting one of the tarps and going inside,

The inside was simple, he had sleeping bags, a chair, and even a small fireplace that had a homemade chimney made from discarded bricks. It had taken him almost three months to find a way for the wood to support the bricks, but in the end it had worked.

A few seconds later, the man appeared beneath the tarps. He eyed the little pile of canned food in the corner hungrily.

"Help yourself to whatever," Scorch said, "and if you need a shower, I have a pipe outside that leads to a rain barrel higher in the tree. It'll be cold, though."

The man shrugged. "Shower's a shower. Thanks." He went over to the food pile and started picking through it. "You gotta name?"

"Scorch. You?"

Daryl. Daryl. Dixon." He picked up a jar of what looked like pig's feet. "Take it Scorch ain't your real name?"

Scorch made a face at the jar. "'S the only one that counts. And you actually like that shit?" He pushed an upturned bucket towards Daryl so he could sit down while he ate, taking the chair for himself.

Daryl frowned at him. "'S wrong with pig's feet?"

Scorch snorted. "Well…'s fuckin' feet! I don't eat nothin' that's got the name feet in it." He snickered a little. Daryl ignored him and started munching on the offending substance with a satisfied noise in his throat. They sat in silence until Daryl finished his food.

"You want that shower now, before it gets any colder?" Scorch asked.

Daryl looked down at himself and grimaced. "Yeah, might as well. He took the towel and half full body wash and shampoo Scorch handed him and went out onto the platform. Scorch heard the trickle of water start up, along with a vehement curse from the cold water. He winced in sympathy, then found some spare clothes in his backpack and set them near the fire so they'd warm up, also pulling the sleeping bags near the fireplace for the night. He set to piling logs into the blaze, then sat back and gazed into it.

A few minutes later, a dripping Daryl came back in with a towel around his waist. Scorch swallowed thickly and tried not to stare as he offered the spare clothes. He'd been without company of any kind for so long…

Shrugging off the thought, he looked up at the now dressed redneck. "You wanna drink?" He asked, indicating he had alcohol.

Daryl groaned. "Man, if you've got it, I won't refuse." Scorch grinned and went back to the pile of food, bringing back two full bottles of moonshine, giving one to the other man. He took a long swig and grimaced. "Good shit." He said.

They sat in the tree hut and drank till both bottles were empty. By this point, Scorch was on his back and talking about an embarrassing Christmas experience he'd had a long time ago. When he'd finished, he looked over to see Daryl gazing moodily at the floor. "What?" He questioned.

Daryl was silent for a moment before looking into the fire. "Never had a Christmas present." He mumbled. Scorch was aghast. "What? Why?" Daryl shrugged but didn't answer. Scorch stared at him for a minute before crawling over to his backpack and digging in it before coming back and shoving a candy bar at the man. "Merry Christmas." He mumbled, his words slurred from the alcohol.

Daryl blinked at the chocolate before pulling one of the tarps open a little and peeking out. "It ain't snowing, and I don't see no fat man on a reindeer anywhere."

"Yeah, well, you can't prove it ain't Christmas, so merry fuckin' Christmas." Scorch huffed.

Daryl smiled the smallest little smile as he gazed at the candy bar. "Merry fuckin' Christmas…" he murmured.

Scorch sighed and flopped onto his back. "I haven't had a drink in so long, I think I'm a lightweight," he snickered. "Naw," Daryl replied, "shit's strong. 'M lit like a Christmas tree."

Scorch giggled stupidly. "F...fuck…me too….Merry fuckin' Christmas!" He started laughing uncontrollably, burying his face in his arms. Daryl chuckled a little. "My first real Christmas, and I'm the goddamn tree."

It took several minutes for Scorch to stop laughing. He laid back, his head against Daryl's shoulder, who didn't seem to notice. "So, are you gonna leave tomorrow?" Scorch asked after a few minutes of silence. "Dunno. Maybe." Was he reply he got.

"Take food with you, yeah?" At this he just got a grunt for a reply. He reached over and pushed lightly at the other man's cheek. "I'll fuckin' throw it at you if you don't." He was about to pull his hand back when he felt teeth lightly close around his fingers. He turned to gaze at the man, his heart beating a little faster. "You might be disappointed. Those ain't pig's feet." He gave a little laugh, only to be cut off as the redneck ran his tongue all along all the fingers before pulling back and mumbling. "Yer right."

"…Might be though. Should try again." Scorch's cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and he was definitely reacting to that tongue on his fingers. Daryl hummed and sucked on each one, obviously under the influence himself. Scorch couldn't for a second believe a gruff, redneck hunter like this would do anything involving men in his right mind.

"Nope. Still not pig's feet." Daryl grumbled after a minute, his husky voice and southern drawl sending blood straight to Scorch's groin. The younger one deliberated for a moment before leaning a little closer. "Maybe… we should try something else?" He licked his dry lips with a touch of nervousness.

"Like what?" The redneck turned to him, his eyes half closed.

Scorch immediately leaned in and pressed his lips to the other's. In his drunken state, Daryl didn't immediately push him away. After a few seconds of lips moving against each other, Daryl pulled back some and mumbled, "'Chu doin'?"

Scorch bit his lip a little. "C'mon, how long's it been since you had some?" He scooted a little closer.

"I ain't never put my dick in no dude…" Daryl murmured, definitely not saying no.

"Ain't never had no dude's dick in me." Scorch said heatedly, his hand traveling down to palm the redneck through his jeans. Daryl groaned and arched a little. "What's making you wanna start now?"

"Fuckin' horny," Scorch responded before pressing his lips heatedly to the older man's, their tongues and teeth clashing in a battle of lonely, drunken desire as Scorch's hand kept working Daryl's length in its denim prison.

Suddenly, Daryl pushed the young man back and started unbuttoning his jeans. "Clothes. Off." Scorch immediately complied, pulling his clothes off and getting on his hands and knees, his heart racing. Even through the alcohol, he could tell he felt something for the elder he'd never felt before. He let his head fall onto his arms with his ass still in the air, waiting with baited breath as Daryl spit into his palm and slicked his length up. He leaned over the younger man and braced himself with one hand on Scorch's hip as he slowly pressed in with a heated breath. Scorch groaned into his arms. It hurt like hell, but thankfully the alcohol took the brunt of it away and left room for the pleasure it brought.

"A…ah...shit..." He moaned, back arching. Daryl smirked. "Pretty fuckin' good for a backwoods redneck, huh?" He chuckled huskily as he slid home in one grand thrust.

"Y..Yes! F..fuckin'…good!" Scorch cried, feeling so full of him. Daryl started a quick, rough pace, finding sweet abandon in just letting go and releasing all of the tension and stress living in this world had given him, not having to be careful since the man under him was just as tough, just as hardy as he was. They went for hours, both needing this night to just let go, the sounds of slapping skin and desperate moans sounding throughout the tree house. Towards the end, Scorch had turned over so he was on his back, gazing up at the man on top of him as he pounded into his willing body. As their eyes met, Scorch felt that he would take all this man had to give, forever, and do anything and everything to him and for him. He felt the other's rhythm falter as Daryl caught that look before he shook his head and picked up the pace, wrapping his hand around Scorch's length and stroking it in time with his thrusts. That hand on his length was all Scorch needed to come undone. With quivering muscles he shattered, releasing his essence all over their chests and gasping Daryl's name over and over. The redneck thrust a few more hard times before coming deep inside of the young man with a grunt that vaguely sounded like his name.

As they both sat there panting, Daryl found it was getting hard to keep himself propped up on his arms. As if sensing this, Scorch gently pulled him down next to him, hissing lightly as the older man's length slid out of his abused hole. He pulled a sleeping bag over them and snuggled into the redneck's warm chest. Daryl, being too tired to really fight him, just made sure the younger couldn't touch his back before immediately drifting off to sleep, soon followed by the young man.


End file.
